


Untitled/A brief moment in the midst of many larger ones.

by JoAsakura



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21988546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: a very tiny stormpilot scribble of little consequence
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	Untitled/A brief moment in the midst of many larger ones.

Poe Dameron believes in the Force. 

Performatively, perhaps, at first. But you don't grow up in proximity to people named Skywalker and Organa and Solo without having Actual True Belief rub off on you just a _tiny_ bit.

Nonetheless, Poe Dameron gets through the majority of his misspent youth disappointing his parents and paying lip service to the Invisible Glue of the Universe. Even when he answers the call to stand up against a fresh batch of fascists hell-bent on dragging Palpatine's ugly ass out of the bin of history and recreating the empire.

Even when he thinks he's going to die.

He starts believing, just a little bit, _maybe_ , when some lunatic, addled stormtrooper half-inadvertently rescues him. Or Poe rescues *him*. Or they rescue each other, he's a little hazy on the actual sequence of events because torture and crash landings will do that to a body.

He believes it more when, in the captain's cabin on the Falcon (only temporarily theirs and the Falcon will _never_ not smell incredibly weird and Poe is eternally torn between amazement that he has been given the keys to a legendary starship and the fact that the Falcon is in reality an incongruously functional hunk of poorly considered design choices and years of bad maintenance), in the dim lights, he looks down at the man drooling on his chest. Finn's sleep is often a fitful thing, the scars the First Order leave go beyond meat and bone down into the very motes of a person's soul, and he mumbles something unhappily against the warmth of Poe's skin.

Poe is certain that if he were smarter he could write poems about the warmth of Finn's smile, about the starlight in his dark eyes. But his skillset involves flying fast and taking a punch so instead he rubs his jaw along Finn's curls and hums a lullaby, softly, in time with the Falcon's engines.


End file.
